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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23509216">Young God</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisashittyusername/pseuds/thisisashittyusername'>thisisashittyusername</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gravity Falls</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Pining, Requited Love, brothers to lovers to enemies i guess LMAOooooOoO, but they break up, why did they change the names omg stanford and stanley were so much better</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 12:29:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,317</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23509216</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisashittyusername/pseuds/thisisashittyusername</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A look back at Ford and Stan's lives, to the song "Young God" by Halsey.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ford Pines/Stan Pines</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Young God</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>aye im back on my incest bullshit ! 🤠🤠</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span class="u">[Forever cursed in love are the observant]</span>
  </em>
</p><p>Stanford tries to think back to the first time he saw the signs, and concludes that, no, he could not. He supposes it started years before, when they were thirteen or so, young and fresh and barely aware of how things could have become and how things now really did. In hindsight, it’s always been so apparent though- the way Stanley’s fingers curled to fists when Stanford was mocked, or the way he’d coddle up against him later in the evenings on the lower bunk…</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span class="u">[He says, "Oh, baby girl, you know we're gonna be legends</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span class="u">I'm the king and you're the queen and we will stumble through heaven]</span>
  </em>
</p><p>“One day, Sixer, we’re gonna get outta here,” Stan would tell him, softly but strong- his accent thick, just like their mother’s, and just as comforting- of course, mixed with the greaser lingo he’d been adopting lately. Stan used to hold him, when they were younger, and he used to cling back, sometimes sobbing. Nowadays they just keep to their own bunks and stare into the blankness of their walls. “We’re gonna run outta this backwater town and never look back. Jus’ you and me, together.”</p><p>“And Dad?” Ford asks, bitter of how, just earlier, his father had reacted to a slight dip in his grades. The grip he has on his textbook tightens just thinking about it.</p><p>
  <em>You’ve been slacking, haven’t you? Suddenly I can’t tell you and your brother apart.</em>
</p><p><em>You get off his ass, Filbrick Pines, so help me, </em>Ma had told him off. <em>Stanford’s been working day and night for his education, and he’s not wasting nothing! And don’t you start with me on my little free spirit, you don’t get to…</em></p><p>Ford went up to his room when they started fighting.</p><p>“Pops? <em>What about him</em>?” Stanley scoffs, and Ford feels the bedframe jolt slightly when his brother shifts below him. “Forget ‘im, he ain’t worth shit.”</p><p>“Stanley…” Ford sighs.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span class="u">[If there's a light at the end, it's just the sun in your eyes</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span class="u">I know you wanna go to heaven but you're human tonight."]</span>
  </em>
</p><p>“You don’t gotta listen to that old codger, you got enough brains in that big head ‘a yours to pay attention to instead.” Stanley hops off the bed suddenly, moving across the room to reach the light switch. “Tell me, Poindexter- do the brains all speak at the same time or do they wait ‘til the other’s done?” he asks jokingly, gesturing to his own head.</p><p>“Oh, they all speak at the same time, actually,” Ford replies, not to be bested by his brother. “But they just tell the same things, so they don’t overlap in a way that confuses me.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah? What’d they say?”</p><p>“’<em>Stanley’s an idiot</em>’. You know. Same stuff on the daily.”</p><p>“<em>Ha ha.</em> You’re a real wise guy, you know that?” Stan shakes his head, flicking the light out.</p><p>“Hey, turn it back on,” Ford whines suddenly. “I was still reading.”</p><p>“Tough luck.” His brother shuffles back to the bunk.</p><p>“Stanley, <em>c’mon</em>,” he urges.</p><p>Stan pauses right in front of him, and sighs. “… Poindexter, I know you well enough to understand that you workin’ your ass off into 1 in the morning means you got some kind’a guilt ‘cause ‘a what Pops said. But you gotta know…”</p><p>There’s enough light coming from their window for Ford to see Stan’s face, just at the same level as his mattress. His brother’s <em>staring </em>at him with an unreadable expression- it’s like half part’s awe and another’s… something else.</p><p>“…<em>you’re already perfect the way you are,</em>” his brother finishes.</p><p> </p><p>A breath he wishes Stan didn’t hear hitches in his throat.</p><p>
  <em>It’s this again.</em>
</p><p>“I know just as well as you that getting ‘im impressed is like impressin’ god for us,” Stanley continues, unfazed, plucking the book out of Ford’s hands, “but you’re wearing yourself out. If that’s what’s gonna get ‘im impressed, then ‘god’ can go take a hike.”</p><p>Ford watches as his brother sets the book gently onto their shared table (Ford’s, if they’re being honest- Stan doesn’t do a lot of writing or reading or anything that had something to do with a table), before he pads back in front of Ford. He continues staring wordlessly after that, as if expecting Ford to say or do something. It gets to him.</p><p>“Fine,” he blurts, when he manages to swallow. He rolls over until he’s facing away from Stan, pressing his face against his pillow. The fabric is immensely cool on his skin, and he wonders just how heated his face must be. “I’m going to bed, are you happy now? <em>Mom?</em>”</p><p>“’Night, Sixer,” Stan calls out behind him, and Ford can hear the smile in his voice- no doubt feeling triumphant for swaying his brother to his orders yet again- just as he feels the bed jolt yet again when Stan dives into his sheets.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span class="u">[And I've been sitting at the bottom of a swimming pool</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span class="u">For a while now, drowning my thoughts out with the sounds]</span>
  </em>
</p><p>An hour or two passes, yet Ford doesn’t feel sleep come for him that night. He keeps thinking about <em>it</em>. He gets <em>uncomfortable </em>thinking about <em>it</em>- how Stan keeps staring at him <em>like </em>that, and how he always goes quiet and…</p><p>He can’t explain it. That weird <em>expression</em>. For the life of him, he doesn’t know what to make of it. He’s never seen Stan look at anyone else like that- maybe ‘<em>to that sweet doll over there by the counter</em>’, as Stan had once said, back in the Juke Joint- but he can’t really be too sure. Ford was thin, and lanky, and had thick-rimmed glasses. It didn’t make any sense; he was nothing like a<em> sweet doll that Stan would’ve perhaps wanted to…</em></p><p>That face… A small voice in the back of his head whispers to him the truths he’s always tried to shun. Like how that face makes him want to do many things. Many sweet and chaste and <em>wrong </em>things, but also many dirty and salacious <em>wrong </em>things. He has to emphasize ‘wrong’ in his head every time- it’s bad enough that they’re brothers, but it’s even worse that the expression getting him all hot and bothered is on the same face he has. Ford could almost groan. It was disgusting, <em>he </em>was disgusting, and… and…</p><p>And then the telltale signs come. The sounds of shifting blankets where there was silence only moments ago, and a rather loud waistband slapping against skin, followed by a hushed, “<em>Shit</em>”. There’s a few wet noises that follow- <em>squelchy</em>, if he’d describe it- and suddenly, <em>there it was</em>. The bedframe shakes slightly in a rhythmic way, and the thought of what’s happening below him is enough to make Ford bite his lip to keep from breathing out loudly.</p><p>“Hh-<em>hah</em>,” he hears below, and Ford decides to cover his ears with the pillows around him and just wait it out. Like he always did. He ignores his own need- the way the sounds and the shaking of his bed makes him throb between his legs- even as his face flushes. He doesn’t touch himself, or call out to Stan and let him know he was hearing him, despite how burning the temptation was against his tongue.</p><p>But he has better restraint than this. He keeps his hands to his head, and his mouth shut tight.</p><p>He wasn’t confrontational, anyway, and he resolved that as soon as he found out what was causing his thoughts, the sooner he could address it and finally get rid of it. Stanley didn’t need to know about <em>it. </em>It was one thing, having Stanley save his scrawny dumb ass day after day from bullies like Crampelter or his dad; this was a problem he had to face by himself, and hopefully, as quietly as he could.</p>
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